How the Newsie Got His Cap
by Seaver42
Summary: “Well kid, you don’t just get a hat. You have to earn it.” Not true. Blink was taking advantage of the kid's innocence now, but hey, he’ll grow out of it soon enough. May as well have fun with it. OneShot


He was about seven when they took him in. They showed him how to sell, where to sell, where to eat, where to sleep. They gave him a name, Snipeshooter, because of his talent at marbles. But he didn't feel like one of them, though. Not yet.

"When do I get my hat?" he asked Kid Blink after he had settled himself into the lodging house on that first night.

Kid Blink grinned. The kid was so innocent, still. You couldn't help but like him. When someone started working to keep themselves alive, you had to befriend them when they were still innocent, before they developed an attitude, before personalities began to clash.

"Already? It's just your first day."

"Everyone else has one," Snipeshooter pointed out. All the big kids did, all the ones who could make it on their own. He already looked up to them. And he _really _wanted a hat just like theirs.

"Well kid, you don't just _get_ a hat. You have to earn it." Not true. Blink was taking advantage of Snipeshooter's innocence now, but hey, he'll grow out of it soon enough. May as well have fun with it.

"Earn it? How?"

"Well, I had ta fight wit' Spot Conlon."

"Who's Spot Conlon?"

"Who's Spot- oh, you'd bettah be grateful he ain't here. Everyone knows who Spot Conlon is." Kid Blink leaned in real close and kept his voice low, for dramatic effect. "He's a young kid, younger 'an me, but he's already second-in-command to da leadah of Brooklyn!"

"Oh!" Snipeshooter breathed. Brooklyn, he had learned earlier that morning, was a dangerous place. A lot of unfriendly newsies dwelled on those streets. He was told never to go there by himself. Only Racetrack was bold enough to go there alone on a regular basis. "Is that really true? Did you really have to fight Spot?"

"Why do ya think I wear an eye patch?"

Snipeshooter stared at him in admiration.

"Blink! You in foah a game a pokah?" It was Racetrack. No one else had that strong an accent.

"Yeah, Race," Kid Blink called back. Snipeshooter followed him to the small circle of boys sitting cross-legged on the floor. He watched as they each put two shiny pennies in the middle.

"You in, shrimp?" Race asked.

"I, uh, I don't know how to play," he said in a small voice, not daring to look at Race's face. Race hadn't asked an unfriendly question, but Racetrack, the boy who visited Brooklyn alone on a regular basis, the boy who was so easily capable of taking other boys' money, the boy who smoked cigars despite his young age, seemed very intimidating to Snipeshooter.

"It's okay, kid." Jack cuffed him on the shoulder. "You'll learn one a these days." It was an invitation to make him feel welcome, but at the same time a hint that tonight's game was serious, and they didn't have time for little kids this time around.

Snipeshooter forced a grin and stood up. Looking around, he spotted Crutchy conversing with Snitch. Thinking about Kid Blink's story, he walked over to them.

"Heya, Snipes, how's it goin'?" Crutchy greeted good-naturedly.

"Crutchy? Did you hurt your leg fighting with Spot?"

Crutchy was utterly bewildered at the sudden question. "Why would I fight with Spot?"

Snipeshooter explained about how Kid Blink earned his hat. Snitch snickered and shook his head.

"Blink's crazy. I never had ta fight Spot," Snitch said.

"What did you do to earn your hat?" Snipeshooter asked eagerly.

"Oh. Uh…" Snitch quickly spun a story. "I had to swim across da East River."

Crutchy scoffed. "It isn't that wide."

"It is when you'se swimmin' it!" Snitch retorted. "Besides, I did it in January."

"Really?" Snipies asked, wide-eyed.

"Sure. But don't worry, they all made it really safe. Made sure I didn't drown or freeze or nothin'. They followed me on da Brooklyn Bridge wit' a rope in case I got inna trouble."

"Only we didn't have any rope." Crutchy added. "So we used dental floss instead." Snitch gave Crutchy a tiny smirk, as if to say, 'nice touch.'

"Prolly wouldn'ta reached anyway, now that I think about it…" Snitch recalled, "Good thing I made it!"

"Da older newsies went easy on me," Crutchy told Snipes, "since I had a bum leg. They just threw tomatoes at me foah a while, plain an' simple."

"Why?" asked Snipeshooter. That didn't seem like a good way to show that you were worthy of possessing a hat.

"Ta prove I was tough enough, 'a course!"

"Wow… I wonder what I'll have to do." Snipeshooter was getting nervous. This hat stuff seemed difficult.

"Just wait til ya hear what _I _had ta do." Snipeshooter whipped around. He hadn't even heard Jake come to stand behind him.

"What?" he questioned.

"They kidnapped me in da middle of da night an' blindfolded me an' took me ta da Bronx!"

"In the middle of the night?"

"Yeah." Snitch agreed. "He was so lost, he actually managed to get himself over the river. They found him in Queens!"

"Since I never did find my way back, they gave me this instead." Jake held out his bowler hat for Snipeshooter to see. "Same as da Delancy's."

Snipeshooter was amazed.

"You should hear what Jack had to do." Jake continued.

"Yeah," Crutchy exclaimed, "He had to do something really tough to get that cowboy hat."

"What?" Snipeshooter asked eagerly, "What was it?"

"You're going to have to ask him," Snitch replied. "Hey! Jack!" He called across the room.

"We're _gambling!_" Came Racetrack agitated reply.

"Then take a break!" Snitch countered. Racetrack stared at him like he was insane.

"Okay, we can take a break," Jack answered, "right, Race?" Jack received the same stunned glare Snitch had just gotten. "I'll take that as a yes." He and a few of the poker boys got up to join Snitch's group. Racetrack glowered at them through his cigar smoke.

"We were just telling Snipes here how we _earned_ our _hats…_" Snitch pointedly said, trying to send Jack a hint to go along with the joke.

But Jack already knew. This prank was too good for Kid Blink to keep to himself. Almost every boy in the lodging house knew by now. "Oh yeah," he said, "We was just talkin' about that."

"You've heard my story, haven't ya, kid?" Swifty inquired.

Snipeshooter shook his head.

"I had to get a picture of the mayor's daughter… from the mayor hisself!"

"Wow!" Snipeshooter exclaimed, "How'd you do that?"

"I lifted his wallet. Took the picture right out. The cops chased me, a course," he went on proudly, "But I lost 'em in Central Park."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… I had sneaked unner some bench, but they started shootin' at the trees, thinkin' I climbed up there. But I got away. I was too smart foah 'em." Swifty ended, leaving Snipeshooter to bask in Swifty's triumphant light and the other boys to duck behind each other to hide their smiles.

"You still haven't heard anything," Crutchy said when they had recovered enough to keep their faces straight. "Jack's story is the best of all."

"Got that right," Jack agreed smugly.

"What did you have to do?" Snipeshooter eagerly asked.

"I had to spend a night…" Jack began slowly, enjoying the mounting suspense and the reactions from all of the boys, who were anxiously anticipating Jack's tale, "In the lion cage of the Central Park Zoo."

The boys murmured to each other, impressed.

"Yeah!" Jack edged them on. "They put me in there and right away the lions smelled me. They hadn't eaten since that morning, so I had to outrun them, but I got cornered. It was just me, about eight lions, and the wall. And the rainstorm," he added with a wink to the older boys.

"What did you do?" Snipeshooter asked.

"I walked straight up to that first lion, and I punched him right in the nose."

By this time, Snipeshooter had found his new hero. The other boys, however, looked at each other doubtfully. Jack had taken it one step too far, but no one would dare call him on it. No one wanted to reveal the joke.

"Yep, I gave him the ol' right hook. He was kinda surprised, so I got a chance to run past him. I got a big tree branch and used that to fend 'em off while I climbed up a ledge, to safety. It was hard 'cuz da rain made the rocks all slippery. It was a rough night, though. Every coupla hours one of 'em would start jumpin' real high and I'd have to hit 'em wit' the branch. But it was worth it. I got my hat." He held out his cowboy hat to Snipeshooter.

Snipes held it as if it were made of gold, studying it in admiration, running his fingers over every stitch.

"Hey Jack! It's a break, not a vacation!" Racetrack again. It surprised Jack that he had been patient for this long.

"We gotta get back ta pokah, kid. Get some rest." Jack took back his hat and ruffled Snipeshooter's hair fondly. "It's been a long day."

So Snipeshooter got in bed, but there was no way he could sleep. Freezing water, kidnapping, _lions?_ The excitement alone could keep a seven-year-old up for hours. But on top of that, Snipeshooter knew his time was coming too. What would he have to do? Wrestle a crocodile? Break into the Refuge? He wasn't sure, but one thing was certain. He had to do whatever they told him. He _had_ to have a hat.

The next morning came too quickly for Snipe's liking. Would today be the day? Was he ready?

He trudged with the other newsies out of bed and onto the street. His stomach felt nervous, but he forced himself to get breakfast from the nuns. He may need the nutrition.

Snipeshooter was so lost in thought that one of the nuns' voices startled him and almost made him jump.

"Oh! We have a new newsie today, do we?" She turned to another nun and motioned to something in the cart. The other nun handed it to her. "Here you go, dearie. Don't need you to catch cold."

On Snipeshooter's head she placed a brand-new, hand-sewn, newsies hat.

Snipeshooter stared at her in confusion. He turned to his left when he heard soft laughter. Racetrack was failing miserably at trying to hide his amusement.

"That's it?" Snipes asked, too surprised to remember his fear of Race, "No Spot? No pick-pocketing? Not tomatoes?"

Race chuckled and put his arm around Snipeshooter's shoulders, leading him away from the nuns and toward the distribution office. "First thing ya gotta loin about pokah, kid," he said, "Know when someone's bluffin'."


End file.
